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We’re walking into Labor Day, and I don’t know about y’all, but I’m tired.

I’m tired in the way that comes from years of organizing, building, pushing, challenging systems, strategizing, holding space, holding people accountable, and holding onto the belief that we can actually change things.

This holiday and day off feels necessary. And I’m not ashamed to say it, because being in service is labor too.

Serving your community, your organization, your employer, your family, your friendships, and the movement simultaneously is exhausting.

Some of us don’t just work for a living; some of us labor for a better world, and that is a different kind of labor.

It got me thinking about Labor Day. So, naturally, I Googled it.

The traditional story begins in the late 1800s, with industrial workers organizing against 12-hour days, six- and seven-day workweeks, unsafe conditions and low wages.

That history matters, but it is not the whole story of labor in this country. As I read, I kept thinking: What about the labor that came before it? For centuries, enslaved Africans and my ancestors were forced to labor in this country, producing cotton, tobacco, rice, sugar and enormous generational wealth.

Their labor built those industries. Their labor built the fortunes that helped build America. Yet they were denied wages, freedom, ownership and the ability to determine what their own labor could produce.

That made me stop to think: Who gets included in the history of labor? Whose labor is even valued? And who really benefits from movements?

These questions feel so personal to me as a Black woman, a mother, an organizer and a national movement leader.

I have spent a good deal of my life laboring for some kind of change, whether advocating for families impacted by incarceration, racial justice, reproductive freedom or education equity, all in pursuit of a world that is more fair, more just and more humane. I am deeply committed to that work, but I’m tired.

I think we need to be honest about the cost of constantly challenging systems that were never designed with all of us in mind. There is a cost to caring, and there is a cost to organizing. As I contemplate the fatigue that comes with the work, I ask: What are we willing to sacrifice for change? Our joy? Our relationships?

I do not believe liberation should require us to destroy our health or our families in the process.

These are also health equity issues. Our working conditions, economic security, access to rest, and power over resources all shape our health and well-being. If we are serious about health equity, we must care not only about the outcomes people experience, but also about the conditions in which they live, work, organize and care for others.

I believe we should be able to work and rest, to contribute and receive, to earn a living and still have a life, to advocate fiercely and still experience love and joy without losing ourselves.

Maybe that is what I want to think about this Labor Day, not simply who works, but who benefits from the work. Who really has power over what our labor produces? Who gets to rest? Who gets protected? Who gets paid? Who gets heard? And lastly, who is expected to keep giving, even when there is nothing left to give?

If we are truly serious about equity, we have to be serious about solidarity.

Not the kind of solidarity that shows up only when there is a crisis or when the cameras are on, but the kind of solidarity that shares power, resources, opportunity and the burden.

Systems change and movements cannot be sustained by exhausted people alone. We desperately need each other, with our differences and our collective wisdom.

We also need to create space where the people doing the work are also cared for by the work.

So this Labor Day, I’m going to rest, and I encourage you to do the same. This work is important, and it needs the sum of us who remain committed to still dream, still organize, and still believe, while building in a way that allows all of us to live while we labor.

I’m wishing everyone a peaceful and relaxing Labor Day.

Warmly,

Karla Walker

CSHE Executive Director